The Call Of Pripyat
by Waywards Fanfictions
Summary: Ian Degtaryev seeks a new life in an irradiated area called the Zone.
1. A Great Start

_**I do not own the rights to the game Stalker.**_

Synopsis:  
On the morning of April 26th, 1986, a nuclear reactor in Chernobyl detonated following a massive thermal explosion. The resulting radioactive dust was carried on the wind for over several thousand miles, blanketing the western half of Russia and Europe in a nuclear fallout. The disaster was so serious that the government of the soviet union was forced to urgently evacuate citizens of many small towns and cities. The contaminated areas within a 30 kilometer radius are a heavily quarantined area called the Zone. On June 10th, 2006, the Zone erupted in yet another blinding flash of light that was followed by complete silence, and the clouds themselves burning in the skies. Most of the soldiers guarding the cordon were killed instantly. Scientists are still unable to explain what happened even a year later. Rare expeditions into the zone usually end in tragedy, with rare survivors telling stories of mutated animals with extraordinary abilities. By 2009, the Zone is home to around seven hundred unidentified individuals. These people call themselves Stalkers and make a living off of collecting anomalous formations known as artifacts, which can be sold for considerable sums of money. In 2010, Despite military blockades around the perimeter, the Stalker phenomena is increasing in numbers. However, only areas around the Zones edges have been explored, and any attempts to push deeper into the Zone have all ended in failure. By 2012, a man known as Strelok leads a large number of Stalkers into the center of the zone, and they form a safe passageway for men to pass over in droves. Some come for artifacts, others to escape the governments watchful gaze. The military launches an immediate operation to drive all trespassers from the zone. Dozens of military helicopters carrying troops were sent to known encampments. Despite meticulous preparation, the operation is a complete failure and none of the gunships return from the Zone. Ian Degtaryev, a man seeking a new life disappears into the zone. Around the same time, the military deploys several strike teams to investigate the crashed helicopters. Armed with only a rifle and two days worth of food, he begins his journey towards the center of the Zone.

**CHAPTER 1:**

Ian's pack rattled, and his various belongings clanked together as he pulled them out for one of his daily maintenance check. In fact, he knew even the slightest details about everything his pack contained. In the zone however, it never hurt to have an excuse to get up early. Ian was near the end of a long journey, and he was eager to be on his way. Ian was only a couple miles away from warm beds and food. He pushed the thought away and finished his inventory check. His rations, water, anomaly detector, and extra ammo went back into his bag. His pistol went into its holster at his hip, and his rifle was slung over his shoulder, always ready for instant use. Aside from a grenade at his belt, a hunting knife strapped to his leg, and the gas mask hanging from his neck, he had nothing else to prolong his life in this hostile environment. He scanned the horizon, and rubbed the last traces of sleep from his eyes. The abandoned refinery waited solemnly for him atop a hill, just at the edge of his vision. He noted its crumbling smokestacks and walls. Soon, it would be just another pile of bleached rubble decorating the dreary landscape.

The distance to it was not very far, or what made a single corner of his mouth dip down into a frown. The entire area in between was occupied by vicious swampland. Tall grass and murky water rose up higher than his chest, creating a natural hunting ground for the terrifying mutants the nuclear fallout around Chernobyl had created. In spite of the odds of an average person crossing the fens alive, Ian didn't allow fear to distract him from his goal. He was no average person. In fact, of all the beasts prowling through the fens, he was by far the most dangerous. He broke camp and descended into the bog. In seconds, he was lost in its midst. Although he could see none of them, he heard the haunting shrieks of mutants raise up all around him. Some, he could identify, and some he could not. He relied on his sense of direction to guide him towards the refinery, his chosen landmark. For over an hour, he made decent progress through the swamp, dodging quicksand and death by an inch with every step. "Slash! Slash!" went his knife as he used it to hack down weeds too thick to push through with muscle alone. Gradually, the land began to change until the weeds began to thin out and his passage became easier.

With every step a tiring, but rewarding inch closer to more stable ground, Ian eventually won free of the swamp. With sweat clinging to his body, he left the treacherous bog behind and ascended the hill. He trudged on to an old paved road and surveyed the fenced off structure in front of him. His goal was a high tower next to the main complex of the refinery. He intended to use it to spot the settlement of Svadosk. It was a supposed "refuge" for all men traveling through this area of the zone. He would be welcome there, particularly after he traded with the local men for their worn and aging goods. He caught his breath, and seeing no signs of danger, he pushed through a rusted iron gate, and entered the compound. The old concrete seemed to crumble with every step he took, making loud scraping and cracking noises. He stopped moving to examine the road in front of him, and it took him a moment to realize that the sound of footsteps had continued.

He gave no inclination that he had sensed them, and pretended to continue checking the area in front of him. He expected to hear whoever was following him pause to match his movements to avoid detection. But the footsteps doubled, then tripled, and were joined by ferocious snarls and growls. He swiveled around as fast as he possibly could, bringing his AK-47 up to fire. Several feral dogs dashed out of the shadows of the refinery, tearing up the distance between them. Without wasting a second, Ian turned and sprinted for the nearest pile of debris, and climbed to the top. Crouching low, he fired burst after burst into the rapidly approaching pack. Several were hit by his barrage of bullets, but those who survived simply ran faster. The remnants of the pack reached the base of his improvised "Fort" and raised hell to try and get to him. He fought for his life, slamming his foot into those who got to close, and sent a hailstorm of bullets crashing into the dogs as they ferociously clawed to the top. Gunshots relentlessly rang out into the air for several minutes before Ian stood alone in the courtyard.

Ian stepped deftly around there bodies as he descended the mound. The concrete was pitted with bullet holes, covered with spent casings, and slick with blood. He shook his head in disbelief at his escape from the ambush. To calm his nerves, he rechecked his ammo. Two entire clips of 7.62 rounds had been fired off in the frenzy. If ammo was currency, then soon Ian would be dirt poor. He only had a single clip left for the rifle, and two magazines for his pistol. He needed to reach Svadosk soon, and without further incident. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew his pistol instead. The early morning sun made the smoke stacks cast eerie shadows across the path to the tower. He hustled to it, daring not to linger. The gunshots would undoubtedly bring scavengers. He grasped the ladder with a single hand, checking its stability. He could feel the cold and rusted metal through his torn gloves, but it didn't move an inch when he tried to shake it free of its fittings, so he began his ascent up to the top of the tower.

His climb ended short, but so did the tower. It had collapsed at some point and the ladder kept going higher than the rest of the ruins. After securing himself to the ladder, he drew out his binoculars and searched for Svadosk, the legendary beached ship where Stalkers had made a bridge to the center of the zone. It was difficult to pierce the thick veil of the swamp, but with careful searching, he eventually picked it out from its surroundings. At first, it had seemed to rise from the fog like a mirage, hidden and derelict in the depths of the fens. But then, he detected movement. On the top floors of the re-purposed observation decks, he could clearly see sentries patrolling, scanning for danger in the surrounding areas. Ian's trek through the outskirts was about to come to an end. He climbed back down the ladder, making mental preparations to venture back into the swamp. The walk would be nearly double the one he had just finished, but the land ahead was very level, and had scarce vegetation.

Half an hours walk put him within shooting distance of the settlements guards. Hearing the familiar sound of safeties being clicked off, Ian stopped and rose a hand in a gesture of peace. A voice called out towards him in Russian,

"Стоп! Кто ты?" (Stop! Who are you?)  
"Bесплатно сталкер, здесь торговать в баре!" (A free stalker, here to trade at the bar!) Ian quickly replied.  
"Бросай оружие и готовиться для поиска!" (Drop your weapon and prepare to be searched!) the guard ordered.

A door on the inside of the cargo bay opened, and two men walked towards him, communicating with the tower through radio's. As they approached, Ian carefully layed his rifle down on a dry patch of earth. The men slowed to a stop in front of him, and Ian casually examined their equipment. They were well armed, but he sensed it was a show to discourage raiders. Ian could see no extra ammo clipped to their belts, and they had no attachments to the rifles they carried, which almost any experienced Stalker would make sure to have. Instead of disarming him, they went straight for his bag and checked for his identification. As he knew they would, they found the worn and outdated PDA he had concealed in his rations, and took note of his ID. Most settlements in the Zone took great pains to remain neutral to the ceaseless faction wars. If he had been a member of DUTY or FREEDOM, he would have been kicked out of the perimeter on his ass before he had time to say "Черт!"

"Вы свободны вступать Svadosk." (You are free to enter Svadosk.) the older man wearily exclaimed.

The younger man nodded and signaled to the watch tower. Ian was helped to his feet, and they allowed him to stow his rifle in his pack. As the men went re-entered the cargo ship, Ian followed them, his footsteps resounding loudly on the plate metal floor. The main entrance was a barricade in the storage section of the cargo barge,and all of the large crates had been scrapped to reinforce the damaged hull of the ship. It wasn't pretty, but at least it would be safe from the terrors of the Zone. They reached a doorway two floors directly beneath the control towers, and the older man stopped walking for a moment and said in a stream of Russian,

"The third floor is off limits. You can trade on the second floor, and visit the bar on the first floor. If you are caught stealing, you will be shot."

Without waiting for Ian's reply, they opened the door to and stepped through. A wave of noise washed out into the hallway. The main room was a bar, and it was full of many different types of people. Some men sat around tables and drank, some sat in corners and had quiet conversations, and some were gathered around a man who was playing Russian folk songs on a guitar. The smell of cheap alcohol and sweat overpowered all else. Only a few even bothered to take notice of Ian, and those who did quickly looked away after giving him a gaze of contempt. Newcomers were not widely welcomed in the Zone.

His attention was drawn to a large counter in the back left corner of the room. It was separated from the rest of the room by a wire cage and steel beams. Presumably, all of the stockpiles would be stored in the back room he could just barely make out in the dim lighting behind the bar. To the right of the counter, a simple metal staircase led up to the second floor. He had no business with the drunk and shady looking men in the bar, so he walked straight through the middle of the room and climbed the stairs. The cacophony of noises rose with him and echoed off the walls, bouncing into the rooms that lay on either side of the long hallway.

Unsure of where to find a place to trade in his gear, he wandered into several different rooms. Very few of them were occupied, any many of the people on the second floor were sleeping or chatting with old friends. The atmosphere was much lighter, friendly even. It took several minutes, but he was eventually directed to a merchant named Vasily. Ian found himself standing in a well lit room in front of a counter very similar to the one in the bar. Behind the counter, stood a very unfriendly looking man with a hooked nose and bushy eyebrows.

"Hello, you must be Vasily" Ian said in a pleasant voice. "I am looki-"

"Are you here to buy something, or did you just come to waste my time with small talk?" the shopkeeper said, interrupting him.

Ian stifled his anger and leaned forward, drawing his bag off his shoulders and setting it on the counter. Vasily pretended to be uninterested in the goods Ian drew from his bag, most likely in preparation to haggle for all he was worth. Ian pulled out his anomaly detector, (a newer model) and held it up to show the man.

"I am willing to sell you this detector for 600 rupees. It has barely been used, and is in excellent condition."

The shopkeeper immediately snatched it from Ian and held it in his large, chubby hands. He turned it over beneath a desk lamp, and squinted at it with his beady little eyes. It was scuffed in some places, and one of the knobs stuck a bit when you tried to turn it, but otherwise it was in great shape.

"600 rupees? For this piece of junk? I will give you no more than 200."

Ian's eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists. It took quite a considerable amount of willpower to keep himself from dragging the fat imbecile over the counter by his collar. In spite of the mans stupidity, he was almost certainly holding a pistol just beneath the counter, ready to defend himself if Ian tried anything. Coward. It took half an hour, but Ian eventually raised the price up to 400 rupees, and used the money to buy three days worth of food, and 120 rounds of 7.62 ammunition for his AK-47. Ian made his way towards the door, ignoring the mans raucous chuckling as he counted his money, and let it slam shut behind him.

Secretly, he was pleased. His pack weighed more comfortably heavy on his shoulders, and he was ready to find a job. He descended the staircase and let his stride carry him past the bars grizzled occupants. He took a seat at the empty bar, and turned his gaze towards a piece of plywood hanging from the wall right next to him. The bar offered more than food or drinks. It also offered contracts. The plywood had over a dozen pieces of paper tacked onto it, all from different men asking for help in completing one task or another. The most recent one had a sobering title.

**"Skilled tracker looking for experienced hunters to clear out a bloodsucker lair."**

**Willing to split 8000 rupees with every man who joins the hunt.**

**To any man who is interested, meet me at the barricade tomorrow at 4:00PM. We will leave immediately.**

**Grouse~Tracker.**

The contract was dated for today. It was only half past two, so he still had time to kill. He spent the next hour getting to know many of the different residents of Svadosk. Many of them had interesting stories to tell. The barkeeper eventually returned from the back room and several men gathered around the counter to order drinks or have friendly conversation. He was a large man. He had no hair left on the top of his head, but he had quite a beard covering the lower half of his face. He was quite a likable man, and Ian quietly listened to him for a moment, then he made his way to the front of the group and sat down on an unoccupied stool. Chatter died a bit, then the man reached his hand out and clasped Ian on the shoulder,

"You new here?" the burly bartender asked.

"Fairly. I just passed trough the cordon the day before yesterday. I have already been warmly welcomed by the natives." Ian said with an easy smile.

"That's alright, you'll settle in soon enough. The Zone can be a hard teacher. I'm Beard, the local bartender. If you need anything, just come to me, y' hear?" Beard said.

"Thanks Beard. So what is life like here for you?" Ian asked.

"That's a pretty broad subject, anything specific in mind?"

"Well, what do Stalkers do here?"

"Ask yourself that pal. They step off of Svadosk and scour the wilderness looking for artifacts and explore the terrain, shooting back at everything ans anything that takes a shot at them. Then they stumble back into Svadosk to get drunk and talk trash." He playfully shoved a man on the arm raising a chorus of laughter from the bar. "Everybody just stops here to get some R&R before the next raid. But when an emission hits, it is a completely different scene. That's when we sit tight and remember all those who never made it to shelter in time."

Ian nodded respectfully, and used the opportunity to find out more about his contract.

"I heard about the bloodsucker attacks. Do you lose a lot of men to them?" Ian asked in a low voice.

Beard was silent for a moment, then said "Too many. There den must be somewhere near Svadosk, because many of our hunters leave on short trips and never come back. I'm glad Grouse is finally pulling some men together to do something about them."

"Actually, I intended to join Grouse to raid the den, but I don't know much about bloodsuckers. What can you tell me?"

Several men shook their heads in dismay. A fresh rookie going after mutants he knew nothing about?

"Not much my friend. All I know is that they have very good camouflage that makes them nearly impossible to see in time. Your best bet is always to sneak up on them. I have never seen one up close, but they resemble large men, completely covered in hard, dark skin."

An older patron in the bar spoke up, "I was attacked by one once. They try to get behind you and wrap these.. tentacles around your neck. Try to startle them if you absolutely have to take one out. They are easier to see when they are moving faster."

Several more minutes were spent discussing bloodsucker attacks. Ian didn't believe a word he heard. The details had been greatly exaggerated. They had to be. Right? Ian wasn't sure if he was ready to face an entire den of the beasts, but whether he was ready or not, it was time to go. It was 4:00PM. Ian excused himself from the conversation and stood to leave. Somewhere in the room a man started to play guitar again, and the large group of people dispersed to go back to their drinks. He walked to the heavy metal door and shoved it open. He was finally in "fresh" air again.

There was only a single man waiting outside. He was tall and lean with features were as sharp as his gaze. He was wrapped in a heavy hunting cloak, and had a gas mask hanging around his neck. It was obvious that he had plenty of experience in surviving in hostile environments. If his looks hadn't shown it, his equipment definitely did. He was armed to the teeth. Feeling under dressed for this particular party, Ian approached him and said,

"Are you Grouse?"

"Mhmm." he said, pushing away from the wall he had been leaning against. Grouse stood up straight and asked, "I'm guessing you are the only one coming?"

"So it seems. My name is Ian, what kind of contract are you offering?"

"Here's the deal, recently several stalker have gone missing. Nobody has heard anything about them, but just the other day they found a single body. No signs of violence, but it was bled completely dry. Tremor searched the body, he could give you more details.. But anyway, its got to be bloodsuckers! I talked to Danilla and he went off to search for their lair, but he never came back. I haven't seen or heard from him since."

"I see." Ian said. "I am ready to leave when you are."

Grouse shrugged and unslung his rifle. "Lets get going then." he said, turning to walk through the barricade without saying a word to the outlying sentries. They let Grouse and Ian pass, and Svadosk soon dissipated into the mist again behind them. Mosquito's and flies were out in force, and they never stopped trying to swarm the two men, but they were nearly completely covered in body armor. Ian had many questions, but the swamp was a bad place to talk in. Not only was it nearly impossible to hear over the drone of insects and mutants, he needed to stay alert. The crossing through the swamp was fairly short. Instead of heading back southeast, where Ian had come from that morning, they went straight north. Just as before, soon the undergrowth and noise faded behind them and Ian felt the sun on his back again. The ground rose into a steep hill, and he had no view of the horizon from the bottom of the flood plain. The hill was hard to climb. It was wet, and the dirt was unstable. Ian almost slipped several times, but he managed to keep his balance by grabbing on to the heavy pieces of rubble that littered most of the area. After quite a bit of caution and effort, they made it back to level ground. Now that they were out of the basin, it seemed the wind was blowing much harder then it had been earlier.

Barely a hundred yards away from where they stood was a small town. Grouse motioned for Ian to follow his lead and they rejoined with the road. They dropped down into a deep ditch on the side of the path. It offered quite a bit of protection from gunfire if bandits were waiting in the building ahead to ambush them. They had to constantly watch their steps to avoid tripping over sharp pieces of metal or drainage pipes. Instead of complaining, Ian shrugged. After all, muddy leggings were much better then bullet wounds. It didn't take too long for them to reach the edge of the town. Grouse relaxed visibly when they were back in the cover of the closely space buildings. They sought refuge from the wind next to an overturned bus. Ian rested his head on his knees and asked,

"Whats the plan Grouse?"

"Well, I think the bloodsuckers main den is inside of a school that has mainly stayed intact. The building has a pretty simple layout. We will enter through the kitchen and make a circular sweep around the inside. Do you have any questions?"

"How many do you think are in there?" Ian asked.

"I watched them for several days in my safe house across the street, and I never saw more than two leave in a single day."

"What can you tell me about fighting bloodsuckers?"

"Generally, the best advice is to avoid fighting them. They are pretty hard to predict, and they can be a real pain if you don't finish them off pretty quick. Just try to keep your back in a corner and aim for the legs first if you see them running at you. They are pretty hard to bring down, and they can sprint much faster then you would believe. You can always tell when a bloodsucker is hunting in an area because the bodies of its victims will always be complete drained of blood. They usually try to sneak up behind you and kill you without a fight, but if you force them to, they are perfectly capable of ripping you in half with their claws."

Ian filed away the information, then looked back over his gear in preparation for the raid. One clip. Two clips. Three clips. Four cli-

"Nervous habit?" Grouse asked.

"It never hurts to be prepared." Ian said, and then they both pulled on gas masks.

They stood, and Grouse led him towards the school. It was hard to find. The roof was no higher then the space most single story houses enjoyed, so when Ian turned a corner and saw it sitting in the middle of a large swath of open ground, he was surprised. The walls were a faded brown brick type construction that was chipping away and falling to pieces in parts. Aside from the main building itself, there was a parking lot and a refuel station for the buses where the administration building must be. More of the windows were broken then not, and the wind made an eerie howling noise when it passed through the cracked and broken glass. They crossed the parking lot just as the sun began to sink beneath the trees to the west. One moment, the school was bathed in reddish gold light, the next it had a cold and dead tone to it.

"Quietly now..." Grouse warned Ian, and they crouched low to avoid drawing attention through the windows. They followed a sidewalk all the way around to the back of the school and stopped in front of the utility entrance to the kitchen. The door was already open. It glided back and forth on its hinges, caught in the wind. SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! The door couldn't stop from smashing into the side of the brick wall. Ian caught it and held it tightly against the wall to allow Grouse to step through, then he too stepped through and let it go. The inside of the school was very dark, but not quite pitch black. The light could barely reflect off of any surface because of the amount of dust that coated every surface. The sound of his boots stepping across the dust covered floor was barely audible, so long as he avoided stepping on stray pieces of trash or paper. They passed through the cafeteria and followed a long hallway to the second wing of the building.

They silently passed from room to room like ghosts, revealing nothing that even remotely resembled a blood sucking tentacle monster. Although they had not seen it yet, several sets of inhuman footprints led to all areas of the school. Something big definitely lived here. After turning a corner to another long hallway and row of classrooms, they see the remains of the bloodsuckers recent kills. Several ghastly corpses lay piled against a wall. With a grim expression, Grouse gets on his knees to search them. Ian frowns at the mans intent observation of there faces. It is obvious that the man is searching for a friend, and Ian hoped that he would not find him here. Fearing a sudden attack from behind, Ian turned the other way and held his rifle close to his chest.

Grouse managed to step next to Ian's side without making a single noise, and Ian shivered reflexively. The man was uncanny. "Take this..." Grouse said, and pushed a Spaz-12 combat shotgun towards Ian. His eyes widened. That weapon was most likely worth more then most of his kit combined. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and eagerly equipped the shotgun, pocketing the extra shells for it. After Ian was ready, they continued down the hallway. Where were the bloodsuckers? Ian's unease rose, and a cold feeling of dread settled on his shoulders like an angel of death, come to warn him of danger. No sooner then Grouse had noticed Ian raise his weapon in unease, a blood curdling scream came ripping down the hallway and tore at Ian's eardrums. He nearly dropped his weapon ans clasped his hands over his ears, but instead he kept his eye trained on the corner, waiting for the bloodsucker to come sprinting at him out of the darkness. Ian didn't have time to stop and think. The sound of thunderous footsteps drew even closer until it sounded like they were pounding away at his skull. Where was it? Where? Where? Where? Then he noticed the dust kicking up the floor.

His vision snapped into focus. The vague outline of a terrifying creature was sprinting right for him. Grouse cautiously took a step back and but his back firmly against a window. They both frantically tried to line up a shot on the bloodsucker, but it was practically invisible in the dark hallway. Ian stepped forward and fired his shotgun at the creature, yelling loudly as it took the hit and stumbled back. He already had another shot lined up when the sound of breaking glass shattered Ian's focus, and he swiveled around to see Grouse being drug out the window by an invisible threat. In terror, Grouse clenched down on the trigger and his AK-47 coughed out a torrent of bullets that slammed into the low ceiling by Ian's head. Ian threw himself onto his side and made a split second decision to save Grouse. He lowered his iron sight down to the space far to the right of Grouses head, accounted for the spread, and pulled the trigger. Buckshot flew through the air and embedded itself in the flesh of the second bloodsucker. He saw it spin around and fall to the ground, Grouse still caught in its grasp. By this time, Ian had no chance to stop the first creature. A huge taloned fist crashed into the side of his face and he was knocked off his feet in an explosion of pain. Before he even hit the ground, he was spinning away from his attacker.

He had held on to his shotgun, and he aimed it in the bloodsuckers general direction. He never remembered hearing the sound of the gun firing, but he definitely remembered the kick of the shotgun as it roared in defiance and sent shrapnel slamming into the knee of the bloodsucker. It launched itself at Ian and knocked his weapon from his grasp. It drug itself onto his chest and started to rip at his body armor with its claws. With his shotgun out of his reach, he was defenseless. Or so the bloodsucker thought. Ian defended his face with his left arm, and used his right hand to drag his commando knife from its sheath. He swung his arm in a low arc to bury the knife into the creatures neck, but it flung itself back. Ian was off balance and the bloodsucker had plenty of time to recover. In a frenzy of hot blooded hatred, the creature wrapped its hands around the padding on Ian's neck and began to dig its claws into the thick material.

"Иди к черту кровосос." said a firm voice to the right of him. The bloodsuckers head snapped to the right just in time to see Grouse's hunting knife complete its final arc and bury itself in the creatures jugular. It screamed and jerked, then rolled off of Ian and never moved again. Breathing heavily, Grouse walked over to Ian and helped him up.

"Well that was fun." Ian joked as he struggled to stand, the wounds on his legs aching ferociously. He closed his eyes and concentrated until the pain faded to a dull ache, and he retrieved his shotgun. First thing after leaving, he was going to bandage these wounds before he bled too much and ended up spilling a pint of blood.

"I hope so. We aren't done here. We still need to check the last rooms on this floor, and then we still have the basement to look into." Grouse said with a determined expression on his face. Ian scratched the stubble on his chin, and inclined his head.

"Noise doesn't matter anymore. If anything in here didn't know we were here, they do now." Ian told his partner.

The rest of the search didn't take long, a few minutes later they stood in front of a descending staircase. They exchanged a look and Ian stifled his unease. The rest of the path was completely pitch back. Nothing would need to be invisible to sneak up on them in the confined space.

"Pass me the shotgun, Ian. If I hear anything at all, I will shoot right in front of me. As soon as I do, I will drop to the ground and you hose this entire passage with bullets. As long as we are careful, we'll be okay." Grouse turned on his flashlight (mounted on his gas mask.) and they prepared to enter the tunnel.

Ian did as he asked, and aimed the rifle just over Grouse's shoulder. They descended quietly into the passageway, moving steadily down through layers of old and faded concrete. In spite of the draft of cold air that followed them down the stairs, the small space soon seemed unbearably hot. Something up ahead was giving off a LOT of heat. The beams of the flashlight fell upon a crack in the wall, and Grouse illuminated the entire section until a hole big enough for a very tall man (Or a blood sucker) to just barely fit through. He clicked the flashlight off. And crouched low.

"Not. A. Single. Noise. Ian." the tracker said, and then he crawled through the hole excruciatingly slow, trying not to get his pack caught on the sharp pieces of broken concrete. Once he was through, Ian followed after him. Before he could even get his shoulders through, he realized his pack was too big to fit. He backed out and took it off, then slid through with efficiency a snake would envy, in spite of his injury. What he saw on the other side would be the focus of his nightmares for the next several weeks.

The room was too dark to see much, but a rusted and dusty generator barely gave off enough light for Ian to make out at least a dozen human-like forms hunched over. Bloodsuckers. They were sleeping. The cold grip of terror squeezed his heart until it felt like his lungs would burst, and his breath caught in his throat. If he so much as sneezed, stepped on a piece of trash, or made a single wrong move, this place would be his tomb. Grouse recovered from his shock first, and he made a frantic signal for Ian to go back. Many of the mutants in the zone could smell prey from several hundred feet away, even while sleeping. It was only a matter of time before Ian was forced to the ground for the last time, and he died with his blood drained out onto the floor.

No, he wasn't going to let that happen. Ian turned and edged back towards the wall, feeling the way behind him with his outstretched arm. As much as he needed to, he couldn't take his eyes off of the horde of mutants. His fingers grasped cold concrete, and he pulled himself back through the hole as carefully as he could in his panic. He had barely put his pack back on when Grouse edged back out after him. They glided back out of the tunnel on silent feet, and didn't stop running until they burst back out into the parking lot. Ian leaned over and panted, then turned to Grouse and hungrily said,

"How are we supposed to deal with that many of those freaks? Just two of them alone nearly killed us!"

Grouse shook his head in dismay. "We need more Stalkers." The tall man started to lean against a window, then flinched and walked to the center of the parking lot. "Make a trip back to Svadosk, tell Beard what we found here, and have him send out two of the patrols to help us finish clearing out this lair."

"What will you do while I am gone?" Ian asked and sat down on the curb.

Grouse tossed him a first aid kit. "I will be watching the den from my safe house across the street." He pointed to a multistory apartment complex that was surrounded by a tall wooden fence. "If I plan on leaving, I will leave a mark on the door. A large red X."

Ian dressed and bandaged his wounds, then downed some painkillers and stood up. The pills would make him drowsy, but he wouldn't be making it back to Svadosk any other way.

"If you are too injured to make the trip back, it's okay. You will still receive your pay. No worries." Grouse told him as he returned the shotgun to Ian.

"You should expect me back by sunrise. Be careful Grouse, I would hate to see one of those bloodsuckers get the best of you."

"Ha!" Grouse exclaimed. "By nightfall, those bloodsuckers will be the least of our worries."


	2. A Dark Day

**CHAPTER 2:**

Ian had plenty of time to make it back to Svadosk before total darkness settled on the zone, even with his slight limp. His fear for Grouse's safety drove him onward even when his lungs ached for reprieve from his brisk jog. His new shotgun bounced back and forth on his back, loose in its moorings so he could have it ready to fire in a heartbeat at the first sign of any trouble. He needed to move fast, but it was a ridiculous idea to leave himself completely defenseless for the sake of speed. His stride wasn't quite the mile eating lope it had been with morning, but he still covered quite a bit of ground. His path led back through the city, where imaginary bloodsuckers lurked behind every corner, waiting to finish him off. Upon reaching the drop off that led to the swamp, Ian drew out his compass and made a mental note of his route to Svadosk. Ian's path led him over hills, into the swamp, and through miles of reeds and quicksand where **very** real predators were attempting to hunt him down. With the sun going down over the acres of swampland and fog closing in, danger seemed to be breathing down Ian's neck with every step.

Traveling southwest, (further into the fens) the swamp only became thicker. He swore, Who would ever decide to set up an important trade route in the middle of a marsh? As if to spite him, the twisting and turning path through the marsh only seemed to loop back on itself endlessly, a trick of the fading light. With a steady eye on his compass, Ian corrected his course and soon he returned to more familiar territory. Every time he came across a bend in the path he remembered, he expected to see Svadosk in all of its rusted glory rising from the swamp. But it eluded him, he feared it would take all night to find the ship, and Grouse most definitely didn't have all night to wait on Ian to drag himself in endless circles through the marshes. Just as Ian had been ready to give up hope on finding the settlement, he turned one last rise and found its rusted carcass standing tall in a clearing, as if it had been waiting on him for decades. Ignoring the warning shouts, Ian walked straight up to a sentry and handed the man his ID.

Catching his breath, Ian drew himself up to his full height, and looked down on the man to say, "I need to talk to Beard. The bloodsucker den was much bigger then we had thought, we found a whole horde of the mutants in the basement of the school."

The sentries eyes flicked out towards the swamp as if packs of mutated creatures would surge out to overwhelm the barricade. Now that he thought about it, they probably had before. "Where is Grouse?" the sentry asked suspiciously.

"He stayed behind to watch the den."

The sentry snorted contemptuously. "That fool is going to get himself killed, and if you ask me, so are you, kicking a hornets nest like that." The man turned and signaled to the sentries, then allowed him to pass through the barricade, fumbling with a lighter as he tried to light a cigarette. The lighter slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground, right next to a murky puddle.

"We'll see." Ian said, and then kicked the lighter into the puddle, brushing past the man and into the cargo bay. Ignoring the mans outraged squeals, he pushed the door to the bar open, and drew the attention of every man in the room. Some congratulated his return, others asked about Grouse, and some just went back to their drinks and ignored him. When they saw Grouse was not with him, the tension in the room was palpable. As Ian approached the bar, he noticed Beard studying his face inquisitively. Without making a single move, Beard looked straight into his eyes and asked,

"Grouse?"

"He stayed behind to keep an eye on the den." Ian told the worried man.

"What happened out their?" Beard wondered aloud, taking note of the bandages on Ian's legs. The room went silent as men turned in their seats to hear the conversation.

Ian looked around and said, "We raided the old school. We went in through the kitchens, and killed two of them on the first floor. Right as we got ready to leave, we found a staircase leading down to the basement. We found this tunnel down there that had crumbled down on one side, and inside were nearly a dozen bloodsuckers. They were all sleeping through the day. Grouse and I were able to sneak out okay, but he asked me to come back for help, and stayed behind to keep an eye on the den. Who can you spare to help us finish off these freaks?"

All around the bar, men were suddenly very interested in their bottles.

"Well..." Beard said meekly.

At this point, men were getting up and walking upstairs to find beds.

"None of you will help us?" Ian demanded angrily.

Nobody spoke up, and Ian shook his head in disgust. He had wasted so much time.

Beard spoke up. "Maybe Nimble can help you. Tell him I sent you to deal with the bloodsucker den, and that you need his help. He runs a... questionable business out of a stall on the far left end up the second floor."

Ian really hated being a messenger, but he had little choice in the matter. He stalked up the stairs and loud conversations began again the moment he was out of sight. He ducked into the door that led two the second floor, and walked all the way down the hallway."The man himself." Vasily said sarcastically when he got an eyeful of Ian's torn and bloodied clothing through the open door of his stall. Ian decided to take the mans BS with good humor, and kept walking. Upon reaching the end of the hallway, he turned left into Nimble's stall and stood in the doorway of the room. Three men were sitting in chairs and smoking. The room was in disarray, with cards and beer bottles scattered everywhere.

"Get out of here Stalker!" One of the men called.

"Shut up Snag, maybe he is here for business. Are you, Stalker?" a man wearing full body armor said.

"Beard sent me," Ian began to say."He said you could help me clear a bloodsucker den."

"I could Stalker, I could. For a price, I will hook you up."

"Hook me up with what?." Ian asked incredulously.

"The bloodsucker den is at the school right?" Nimble asked.

"It could be, why?" Ian wondered.

The other men in the room leaned forward intently as Nimble began to speak again. "Because that particular school has a filtration unit in a utility closet. And you could hook up a particularly deadly chemical nerve agent to that filtration system, and waste every bloodsucker in the building. And as it just so happens, I could point you to a canister of that chemical agent. For four thousand rupees."

"That is a ridiculous price. I'm doing you a favor by clearing this den!" Ian exclaimed indignantly.

"That is the price my friend. Not a penny less. But.. If you retrieve some important documents from the location, I will consider your debt payed." Nimble said, shrugging nonchalantly. Behind his mask he was grinning like a shark.

"Alright. I'll do it. What is the location?" Ian questioned.

"Have you been to the refinery, rookie?"

"Only once." Ian said, putting the memories of the feral pack of dogs out of his mind.

"Not too far from that refinery is a large bridge that has collapsed just before reaching the other side of a ravine. It is practically covered in the wrecks of military vehicles. You may be interested to hear that they were part of an EVAC convoy that never quite reached Pripyat. In the cargo of one of the larger transport trucks, you should find a canister of chemicals marked C-23. That is what you will need to clear out the den."

Nimble leaned back and kicked his feet up on a table. "Unless you want to meet with an unfortunate accident while raiding some day in the near future, I suggest you bring me the EVAC reports from the lead cars in the convoy. Its nothing personal, only business rookie."

"If it's that easy, why haven't you done it yourself yet Nimble?" Ian said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I have no doubt you will see when you get their comrade. Don't worry your pretty little head over it, just bring me those papers." Nimble said boisterously.

The trio went back to their conversation and beer began to flow again. Ian took a hint and left the room quietly. He descended the stairs and walked up to Beard.

"I got what I needed from Nimble, but I don't trust him. What can you tell me about the area around the refinery?"

"It is usually pretty safe, as long as you don't do anything stupid. Aside from the refinery, the old riverside warehouse is the only other notable location nearby. It should be pretty safe... Just watch your back friend, I wouldn't trust Nimble any farther then I could throw him, as far as that may be."

Ian thanked the barkeeper and left. Upon exiting Svadosk, he noted the strange red quality of the sky. The wind had picked up even more since earlier that evening, and total night had fallen on the Zone. Ignoring the glares of the sentry, Ian brushed past him again and left the barricade, stifling a yawn.

"Good luck making it back alive rookie." the sentry warned him.

"Good luck getting that lighter to work again sentry." Ian replied, and stepped into the fog.

Ian was on his own still, but now he had a clear goal. The wind was bending the reeds all around the boat nearly to the ground, and a great howling noise whistled out over the couldn't see the refinery in the dark of night, but he could see his compass. The refinery had been south-east of the city, and Svadosk had been southwest of the city. All he had to do was travel east through the marsh. Ian shivered in the cold night air. The swamp was nearly completely silent but for the wind. In a way it was more tense than it had been in his first crossing during the morning, with beasts howling around him every second of the trip. It wasn't the type of quietness you hear when everything is asleep, it was the type of silence you hear when everything around you is hiding from a predator. Somehow, Ian doubted he was the predator they had in mind. Ian desperately felt the need to shut off his flashlight to avoid attracting a nocturnal hunter like a chimera, but he would drown in quicksand if he couldn't see the ground in front of lost track of time, but Ian eventually broke free of the swamps clutches, shaking mud from his combat boots. Once again, he got the feeling that he had just narrowly avoided death.

After climbing out of the basin, he was less than a hundred yards from the refinery's walls. He could just barely make out the road from where he was standing. The road that wound up from the outskirts of Pripyat, (Several miles southeast of the Zaton region) to the dead city of Chernobyl. His footsteps soon resounded from the crushed gravel of the road, and echoed quietly into the crisp air. In spite of the wind, it was no longer cold. The humidity had risen to unbelievable levels and his sweat made his clothes cling to him like snow on a heavy winter coat. Something weird was happening with the weather. He followed the road through the refinery, attentively watching for dogs that could be lying in wait. He passed the familiar scrap heap where he had made his stand yesterday morning. It took him several minutes before he finally passed through the gate on the other side. Leaving the creaking remains of the complex behind him, Ian followed the road for several minutes before he came to the bridge. Much of it had crumbled and fallen in huge chunks to the land below, which was a large swath of open plains.

A constant groaning sound of metal grating together emanated from the bridge. The snapped pylons whipped back and forth through the air as the wind twirled them around. Dozens of overturned wrecks littered the bridge, the majority of them were military trucks. Further ahead, a large cargo truck had plowed into the back of an APC and turned over, creating a jungle of trash. On the very far side, Ian could make out a section of the bridge that had collapsed. Ian climbed over crashed cars, ducked under flailing pylons, and crawled through huge piles of scrap metal to reach the wreck of the cargo truck. Everywhere he put his feet, something seemed to snap off and fall to the ground, rolling for several feet in a cascade of loud noises until they finally fell of the edge of the bridge and dropped to the plains below. On one such occasion, a piece of rubble crumbled beneath Ian and he lost his balance. He tumbled down the side of an overturned bus until he caught himself on the edge of an open window. The large chunk of rock fell into what seemed like empty space, then got jerked to the side and started to spin around in a tight circle. It started to go faster and faster, until the air itself around the object was visible and it exploded in a shower of dust and gravel.

"A whirligig..." Ian mumbled to himself. He had heard stories of such anomalies. They were invisible vortexes caused by radiation, that sucked nearby objects into them and caused them to implode. Had he not caught himself, there would be blood caking the side of the bus instead of dust. Cursing himself for being so careless, he checked the land ahead. He now noticed all of the areas where trash was getting sucked into whirligigs, and then spit out in a never-ending cycle. Entire cars had been ripped in half by the anomalies, and were strewn all across his path. The distance to the cargo truck now seemed triple what it had before. Taking great care with every step, Ian was occasionally forced to turn back and find a different path through the wreckage when the way through was blocked with anomalies. Progress was slow, and terrifying. Around every corner he stopped just in time to watch something to get sucked into an anomaly and destroyed. It seemed the further he went, the more dense the field became. Ian began to wonder if it would have been easier to just tackle the bloodsuckers head on in the basement. His doubts aside, he eventually found himself standing in front of the overturned cargo truck. It had spilled its crates everywhere, and the military markings were clearly visible beneath the light of his flashlight. With whirligigs all around him, he never noticed the extra noise of a chimera dropping down behind him. It's claws sunk deep into the hood of the car it had landed on, it's muscles tightened, and it opened its maw in a feral grin as it prepared to pounce on Ian. The rough skin that covered its entire body rippled, and both of its heads slowly lowered to the ground. The chimera had stalked Ian for the past hour, and it had finally found its chance to catch its prey unaware.

Ian began to survey the crates. Nearly all of them were completely empty, and those that weren't were full of worthless junk. It was obvious somebody had been here before Ian. Scavengers. He picked up a heavy, but small circular container, and turned it over in his hands. Remarkably, the metal was still relatively smooth, he could see his face in the reflection. Ian grimaced, that may not be such a good thing. As he went to put it down, he caught a flash of movement in the reflection, and whipped around and sent the container flying with all of his strength. It caught the chimera in the head mid-leap, saving Ian's life. It hit the ground with a huge crash, its dense body scattering everything out of its way. In less then a second, it was back on its feet and in the air again, sailing towards Ian's face. With only a fraction of a second to react, Ian threw himself to the ground and barely dodged the mutants second pounce. Ian unslung his assault rifle and clicked the safety off. Gunfire rang out into the night as round after round slammed into the flesh and concrete. As fast as it was, it couldn't outrun bullets. It's feet were knocked out from under it and the chimera rolled across the ground and slammed into the truck, denting it. Now was his chance to finish it. Ian aligned the sight with one of its heads and pulled the trigger. Disaster struck. His rifle jammed in his hands and discharged, warping the barrel and kicking back against his ribs. By the time he looked back up towards the chimera, it was gone. Ian dropped the rifle and drew his pistol from its holster. From the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow of the chimera running high above him on the APC. Ian dived under a car and saw the chimera leap for him. He rolled onto his back to aim his pistol, and heard the tell-tale sound of metal groaning beneath the beasts weight as it landed just above him. He saw its teeth snapping inches above his head, and prepared to fire. He never got the chance.

The sound of air whipping all around Ian's head was his first warning that a whirligig anomaly had been set off. The claws of the chimera dug into the frame of the car and it let out an unearthly howl. The air whipped ferociously all around Ian's head, and quickly ripped the canopy of the old car off, dragging the chimera with it. The chimera was caught in a vicious cycle of incredible force, and it compressed the mutants body until it popped like a balloon. Ian threw a hand over his eyes and tried to shield his face. Shrapnel and blood flew everywhere, creating a hurricane of debris. Seconds later, it was over. Ian crawled out from beneath the car and surveyed the carnage. You would never have known what type of mutant had died in the anomaly, but for its blood. The blood of the chimera was a thick, black substance that stuck to everything it touched, (including Ian's combat armor) and smelled absolutely horrible.

Shrugging off the shock of his near death experience, Ian finished searching the trucks cargo. If a military convoy had been here, Ian did not see it now. Everything useful had been stripped from this side of the bridge. Stymied, Ian walked to the edge of the bridge and looked out towards the other side. The gap wasn't very large, but it was definitely longer then he could jump. Sure enough, tantalizingly just out of reach was the rest of the convoy. An APC, another cargo truck, and two jeeps were left to rust where they had stopped. Going back through the bridge and crossing the plains was not an option, or was at least one he preferred to avoid. He was getting tired... He scoured the near side of the bridge with his eyes, looking for anything he could use to cross. It didn't take him long to find the twisted and knotted remains of a collapsed rope bridge. Only a single rope was left. It was still securely tied down on both sides, but Ian really didn't feel like putting his life in the metaphorical hands of a frayed rope. He continued searching, and his gaze settled on the cargo truck. He could wrench the metal siding off of the back of the cargo hold, and use it to create a bridge across. It took a while, but he eventually got the piece loose. Ian drug it all the way to the end of the bridge, and tried to guess the distance to the other side. It couldn't be more than fifteen feet, so he started to lay the metal slab down across the gap. It edged out over open air, a single foot at a time until it nearly became to heavy to lift. Straining his muscles to their limits, he ran out of length right before reaching the other side. He heaved his improvised walkway back onto the bridge, and stopped to think for a moment. Slowly, an idea came to him.

First, he worked on dismantling the metal siding on the other side of the truck. After that, he made his way over to the rope. Pulling his commando knife from its sheath on his leg, he cut off as much length as he could reach. Rope in hand, he fastened the two slabs together securely. With this new longer walkway, he put every ounce of strength he had into dragging it over to the gap. It wobbled, dipped, and threatened to fall as he nudged it towards the other side. Ian's breath caught in his throat, and his muscles grated on bone as he gently set it down on the far side of the bridge. He had done it! Testing the bridges integrity with his foot, he cautiously edged forward. Without the bridge dipping even once, Ian crossed over to the other side with ease. The convoy was right in front of him. These vehicles had all been looted as well. Empty boxes and crates were carelessly strewn across the ground. Whoever had done this had been very sloppy. The remnants of their last meal were still there as well... Ian stooped down, and picked up an empty can of chilli. It had, "реки склад" (Riverside Warehouse) stamped on its side in white paint. Had the scavengers come from the Riverside Warehouse? Ian had to find out. Pushing through the final stretch of the anomalous field, Ian opened a can of peaches and started to scoop them out of the can with his fingers. He couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten today.

Once he was off the bridge, Ian followed a gravel road towards the warehouse. The fens and plain lands were all behind him the end of the winding road, Ian could see the river, and just beyond that, the warehouse. Between him and his goal was a large plot of completely open and desolate land. The only life was a small forest that was clinging to life all along the river. He couldn't see any watch towers, but there were most likely look-outs stationed on the top floor of the main storage building. The entire complex was large than a football field, and surrounded by a large perimeter fence. A gunfight here could all too easily lead to his death. Aside from the storage unit, he counted five smaller buildings, and a large yard where huge cargo crates were stored. If he had come by a few hours earlier, he probably would have seen the now extinguished campfires the bandits were sleeping by. He could see no easy way in, but a closer look would bring new opportunities.

Ian stepped off the road and deftly walked into the woods off to his right. Passing through the forest like a wraith, he crouched down low in a bush next to the perimeter.

"Now lets see what we can see..." Ian whispered to himself.

Over the course of the next half hour, Ian noted the patrols of the guards, who were undoubtedly bandits. The patrols were heavy along the front gate and the back of the warehouse, but the patrols only passed by the forest every eight minutes or so. The fence seemed impenetrable, save for a single spot where it had been torn away, probably by a mutant trying to sneak in for a midnight snack. Once he was inside, he would have plenty of cover to sneak into the warehouse. He could have tried to pass himself off as a bandit, but small groups like this generally knew each other on sight. In the dark of night however, he couldn't be instantly recognized for an intruder, and that would give him some time to disappear if he were spotted. Ian waited for the sentries to pass, and crawled over to the gap in the fence. He held it with one hand, then pulled himself under the breach. The painkiller was beginning to wear off. His leg ached painfully beneath the bandages, and he had to use the fence to stand back up. With his rifle out, Ian walked away from the perimeter and cut diagonally across the yard, heading for the crates. He stepped deftly around rubbish and discarded trash that could alert the sentries. His progress was quick, and quiet.

Several different campfires were lit in the safety of the compound, and some men were still eating or talking around them. Ian made sure to stay as far away from the lights as possible. Taking long, brisk, strides, Ian reached the warehouse without incident. With barely a moments pause, Ian walked over to the side of the large building and pushed open the door with his knee, keeping his shotgun ready to fire. The inside of the warehouse was wrapped in shadows, and there wasn't a single guard in sight. Ian stepped inside, and let the door close softly behind him. The back wall was piled high with crates, and several tables were set up to hold a plethora of boxes. There was a catwalk about a dozen feet off the ground, and two other doors in the room with him. Stepping closer, Ian began to search for any boxes with military markings on them. He started all the way from the right, and passed dozens of boxes until he finally found anything useful. Inside of a rusted metal container was military grade NATO ammo. If he managed to survive long enough to sell it, the ammo would be worth a small fortune. The next box over held pistol ammunition, and the next after that held bandages. He replenished all of his supplies and kept searching, sending up a silent prayer to find the cylinder he needed. Upon prying open the lid of a particularly rusted box, he saw a manifest along with a small cylinder, labeled C-23. That was it! Ian shrugged off his pack and set it down on the table, then careful made room for the cylinder and put it in his pack. After that, he filled his backpack with as many cartridges of NATO ammunition as he could, and prepared to leave.

Ian stepped back out into the crisp night air, and surveyed the area around him. Nothing had changed since he went in, most of the men were still sleeping. Ian stepped away from the warehouse, and noticed the patrol coming closer. Moving as quickly as he could with the heavy pack, Ian moved towards a stack of crates and hid behind them. He only needed to wait for them to pass so that he could escape during the small window of opportunity. Passing around the complex in a large rectangular pattern, the men carefully searched the perimeter. The bright beams of flashlights were barely enough to penetrate the darkness just past the fences, but it probably made the men feel better to think that they would be able to see the threats that would eventually kill them. It took several minutes because they walked slowly and talked among themselves, but eventually there cigarette smoke and footsteps faded off into the distance. Ian slinked out from his hiding spot and made his move.

Walking quickly and purposefully, Ian reached the fence without alerting a single sentry. He took off his pack and pushed it under the broken section of the fence, then prepared to go through himself. Ian started to lift up a part of the fence to crawl through, and it snapped off in his hands with a loud grating noise. Ian fell back from the unexpected whiplash, and sentries started shouting and running towards his position. He stood up and turned around, dreading what he would see. Men were running towards him, pointing and shouting to the other bandits. Ian turned and dove under the fence, rolling for all he was worth as bullets whizzed past him into the night. Ian barely managed to snag his pack before he hit the steep edge of the slope, and fell down it. He smashed through bushes, crashed into rocks, and twisted his hurt leg a dozen different ways before he finally fell into a a drainage ditch and lay still, groaning.

The bandits kept coming for him. Flashlight beams swept over the hillside in crazy patterns, trying to flush him out as if he were a spider in a drain. Inevitably, they spotted him and bullets tore up the ground all around him. He may have been hit, but his body was so numb from the fall he couldn't be sure. He began to crawl along the ditch, headed for the entrance to a sewer he could see, just in front of him. In a mixture of pain and confusion, Ian thought he could see the dark outlines of horrible beasts, waiting to devour him in the dark tunnels. But, as dirt and gravel showered over him from the impact of bullets, he decided that anywhere would be better than here. A single voice rose above the others, ordering men to drop down into the ditch and kill him.

Ian drug himself along like the devil himself was after him. He pulled himself along for yard after yard, until he finally collapsed right at the entrance of the sewer. His vision swam, then forced himself back to his feet and kept going, slinging his pack back over his shoulders. Coughing uncontrollably, he turned right and ran the length of a long corridor. Right before he came to the end, he pushed open a side door and slammed it shut behind him. He was in a small utility closet. At one point, somebody must have lived here. There was a small lamp on a table, and a bed roll laid out on the floor along with several cans of food stacked in a corner. Ian sunk to his knees, then rolled over to his side on the mattress, breathing heavily. Fearing the bandits would come for him, he sat up with his back against the wall, and drew his pistol. Moments later, he heard a snuffling noise outside. But oddly, it didn't sound human.

As long as it didn't come in after him, Ian was content to let whatever beast was outside guard him through the night. He set his pistol down to one side, and began to reapply his bandages. Miraculously, he hadn't been hit by a single bullet while over a dozen screaming men chased him down a hill with automatic weapons. He had several minor cuts and bruises from flying gravel, and several major scrapes and bruises from the fall, but he would be alright. The biggest problems were his wounded legs. The gashes had re-opened in his fall, and were weeping blood and puss. He cleaned and dressed the wound, grinding his teeth from the pain. Once he had it mostly cleaned, he re-applied the bandages along with antibiotics.

With nothing to pass time with but his thoughts, Ian opened up a can of chilli and thought about the days events. He had heard that the Zone was rough, but he never had a clue it would be quite like this. Still, for some reason he got a thrill from the fear and adrenaline. Thinking about his crawl through the drainage ditch, he chuckled. It had been **identical** to his passage through the cordon. The military, bandits, mutants... Everything in the zone seemed determined to kill him. With dark thoughts on his mind, Ian finally fell asleep against the cold concrete of the utility closet, completely alone in the world.

Ian woke up feeling surprisingly well rested for somebody who had slept in a sewer. He pulled himself to his feet and got his bearings. After a quick breakfast of bread and bottled water, Ian holstered his pistol and drew his shotgun, ready to step out into an ambush. He used the barrel of the gun to slowly push the door open an inch, the peeked through the crack. The hallway seemed clear. Remembering the noises from last night, Ian edged the door open a little more, than stepped out into the hallway. It was completely empty, just like the night before. Perhaps luck was finally on his side! Ian quickly debated between returning the way he had come, or finding another exit. He was reluctant to start the day off facing bandits at long range with a shotgun, so he looked for a second exit. Freedom presented itself as a ladder leading up to a manhole, and Ian was drenched in sunlight as he started his climb out of the sewer. The ladder creaked and groaned, but it held fast beneath his weight until he was above ground again. He had emerged by the road, out in the open field he had passed through earlier. Ian checked his compass, and within moments he was striding towards the city, fierce determination burning in his eyes.

It was quite a long walk. Ian ran into a small pack of dogs in a field an hour or so later, but they simply growled at him and ran off when he drew near. Strangely, the wind still hadn't died down over night. It was a stifling hot day, and sweat had beaded on Ian's eyebrows by the time he reached the town. It was hard to remember exactly where the school had been, but he remembered it had been across the street from a two story apartment complex, which would be fairly easily visible from a long way off. His search was complicated by the fact that he preferred to stick to the outskirts of the town. The main street was the perfect ambush sight, with dark store fronts and windows offering great firing positions to his would be attackers. Stepping out of cover in this place gave Ian the creeps. After cutting across a street and taking a shortcut under a bridge, Ian found the apartment complex. He climbed in through the back by using an open window, and dropped into a carpeted room with a muted "thud."

Grouse's safe-house would be the last one on the right, on the second floor. Right? Ian crossed the small living room of the apartment and pulled open the front door. Sure enough, right across the street was the school. Ian could have just walked straight in and hooked up the pump, but he was worried about Grouse. Ian clambered up an old wooden staircase to get to the second floor balcony. A long and worn walkway connected a row of eight apartments together. With a single hand on his holster, Ian trudged down to the last door in the row, and examined it for any sort of marking without avail. So Grouse should still be inside, or at least around here somewhere. He grabbed the handle of the door, and twisted it open just enough to say into the crack,

"Grouse! It's me, i'm coming in. You there?"

He got no response.

"Grouse?"

Ian pulled the door open. The room was nearly identical to the one downstairs. The only differences were all of Grouse's possessions, lying on the bed and the nearby nightstand. His rifle and pack were gone, but his PDA and jacket were laying on a table in the middle of the room. Ian walked over to it slowly, and picked them up in his hands. There was something sticky on the jacket. Grouse's blood.


	3. The Raid

**CHAPTER 3:**


End file.
